


can't help it

by aeicx



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: AU, M/M, law student/pretentious celebrity trying to get out of a DUI AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5570857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeicx/pseuds/aeicx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mr. Prescott, we’re going over the details of the arrest so I can collect an overview of the case to deliver to my so-called ‘beloved mentor’.” Cue air quotes. “And while he’s tending to a family emergency, he’s put one of his interns to good use at this godly hour—” Warren yanks his sleeve up and glances at the clock on his wrist, “which would be...four-twenty in the morning.”</p><p>He’s too tired to laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't help it

“Okay,” Warren says. He jots down a few notes and thumps the tip of his pen against the yellow notepad in thought. “Soooooo. After you were taken in for booking, you turned away all questions that were proposed at the station?”

“Oh my god,” Nathan says, throwing his hands in the air. “How many times do I have to go over this? I didn’t answer any fucking questions and I did whatever the shit Mark told me to do. That’s it.”

“Right,” Warren says. “Right.” He brings the pen up to his mouth, before remembering that getting ink all over his shirt after nibbling on the end probably won’t make a good impression on his client.

Then again, it’s not like he’s particularly inclined to help him out—it’s only been ten minutes, and he’s already sorely tempted to lay a good slap on the wrist before the court lets him go. He reckons this case will take a couple months to process at maximum, if not less.

“Why don’t we just hold this off until Wells gets here? It’ll save you some time to hike out in the bathroom to chew off your nail beds. Y’know—before your beloved mentor arrives to save face.” Nathan smirks and leans back in his seat, throwing his arms behind his head.

Ouch. That bites. “Mr. Prescott, we’re going over the details of the arrest so I can collect an overview of the case to deliver to my so-called ‘beloved mentor’.” Cue air quotes. “And while he’s tending to a family emergency, he’s put one of his interns to good use at this godly hour—” Warren yanks his sleeve up and glances at the clock on his wrist, “which would be...four-twenty in the morning.”

He’s too tired to laugh.

Nathan’s suddenly leaning into the desk at an angle that’s far too acute for his own taste. “Wait. Family emergency? How long is that gonna take?”

Warren scowls. “It'll be about an hour before he can get back in contact with either of us. If you’re lucky,” he adds, and he doesn’t regret the bout of pleasure he gets from the glower that’s tossed back into his general vicinity. If he can remember correctly, Ray Wells has held an unfortunate propensity for licking Nathan’s wounds in court for the past four years. And if he’s correct, this will account for his third DUI in the past six months.

Party hard.

Nathan Prescott. Warren, for the life of him, leads a fruitless search for the many redeemable traits his little sisters and the rest of the national female population boast to find in this scruffy, haughty mess of a songbird. Actually, that’s not true. He wishes it were. Warren’s spotted the charm and allure in Nathan’s interviews on his sisters’ screens—he’s attractive, to boot, with the whole brooding foible pinned down for whatever new movie he’s appeared in recently. And he has a nice voice, persistent in talent, sans the digital rectifications that seem to constantly pop up in his music. Warren would know—his mother had attended the concert with his sisters, after all.

Warren sighs. Wells has had his fair share of ill-mannered celebrities demanding his hand in court. Warren hasn’t had much chance to ask for details, seeing as this is only his second assignment to date.

Who knew a newly certified law student would be handling a twenty-one-year-old debutante’s temper tantrums in the wee hours of the morning?

Nathan's still glaring at Warren. Well, damn you, Warren thinks. I can take as long as I want.

"So. You did resist arrest, which would usually pile on some additional charges, but..."

Warren ignores Nathan's sneer. "Anyway. After examination, you refused to respond during questioning, with the exception of some comments that could very well be taken as signs of hostile behavior—"

"'—eat my ass, bitch—'"

"—and following your manager's assistance in your discharge, you were taken back here." Warren sweeps the environs. Nathan's living room is rather spacious. The lights have been set to a somewhat dim setting, but the walls look all too bright. White crawls about the lofty ramparts enclosing them in, stretching around Warren's periphery. Matte black, blocky furniture attenuates the strain on the eyes alongside accents of gold and a flat black finish on the tiling of the floor. The whole chamber somehow reminds him of his older sister's apartment over in Manhattan; the blank slate of her room back in Arcadia Bay had never been altered in color nor style, not once. Florid were the new living quarters, with the number of paper lamps and crystals ornamenting her shelves, with the plants spilling from the ceiling and walls and windows like vomit.

"Tell me, Professor Graham," Nathan says, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. "What brings you here at this hour of, uh. Night?"

"Mr. Wells is going to be pretty busy for the rest of the week. He'd hoped to have all the data be gathered as soon as possible, so that he can clear your name before your fans decide to dwell on it for too long. Hopefully your name will clear off the headlines rather quickly this time around, considering just how much trouble you've gotten yourself into in the past six months. I'm sure this is a pattern of behavior you tend to frequent by now." Warren looks up from the blue binder on the table to glance at Nathan. Is he fuming?

Nathan rubs his fingers together and flips over a hand to inspect his knuckles. Careless. "Um, yeah. Whatever. So what I hear is that if you've got your notes for class all prepped and ready, then you're ready to go." Warren hears something shuffling behind him and turns. Two tall, pale men—one in pajamas adorned with what seems to be anthropomorphic hot dogs—take his suitcase from behind and gesture to the door. "Give Wells my best wishes and tell the bastard to call me when he's done moping over his sick grandmother or whatever."

Jesus. What the hell is wrong with this guy? Warren shakes his head and starts to speed his pace.

"Oh, wait. Forgot something." Nathan's security team is busy unlocking the front when Nathan swipes something from the counter behind him and trails behind them, down the staircase, and thrusts it in Warren's hand.

"Wh—" Warren begins. There's a leer on Nathan's face. Warren doesn't like it. "It's a tip."

Three hundred dollars, in cash. Something snaps in Warren and tries not to yell as he he shoves it back in Nathan's hands.

"I don't want your money," he says. His tone is ice-cold, locked in every stride he takes out the door and down the path to the driveway. His steps glide into treads, and he's halfway through stomping all the way to his car when he sees a tall woman with short blonde hair sweeping the concrete just opposite him. She gives him an odd look before slowing in her tracks to inspect him.

"What are you staring at?" Warren grumbles.

He drives off with enough engine to wake the neighborhood.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave comments/kudos if you enjoyed! Have a great day.


End file.
